


On The Day You Were Born

by SorchaR



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Fluff, Knitting, M/M, Mpreg, non-traditional but still human biology, odd flavors of coca-cola, the usual night vale strangeness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SorchaR/pseuds/SorchaR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, even though Carlos knows better than to become complacent in Night Vale, it still manages to surprise him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Day You Were Born

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to lannamichaels for beta!

Carlos turns away from his microscope to blink owlishly at Cecil. "Pregnant."

"Pregnant," Cecil agrees with a cheerful nod.

Carlos is rather surprised by the fact that he's not surprised. Or, rather, he's surprised, but only as much as any man might be when told his partner is unexpectedly pregnant. 

He is not, however, as surprised as any man might be when told his _male_ partner is unexpectedly pregnant.

Apparently, he's grown more accustomed to Night Vale than he'd thought. 

*****

"Citizens of Night Vale are reminded that Friday is the deadline for painting your mailboxes. You may pick up a complimentary can of paint in the proper shade of infrared at City Hall. Anyone whose mailbox is not painted will receive a free weekend stay in the abandoned mineshaft outside of town, with re-education included at no extra charge. 

"If I may be allowed a moment of personal indulgence, ladies and gentlemen, I am very happy to announce that Carlos, perfect, beautiful Carlos, and I are expecting a bundle of joy. If anyone has ideas for names, please send them over to the station by screaming them into your bathroom wastebasket. Except for _you_ , Steve Carlsberg. I wouldn't trust you to name even a pothole, not after the last time. Other potholes in Night Vale have names like 'Devil's Canyon' and 'Pit of Despair,' but you chose 'Fred.' 'Fred'? For shame, Steve. For shame.

"Coming up next, two hours of cicada calls brought to you by the Night Vale Entomological Society and Ballroom Dance Club. Remember, dear listeners, life surrounds us, abundant and strange, and those of us who are very fortunate are given a bit of it to carry inside ourselves until it bursts forth like spores from a bloated mushroom. Good night, Night Vale. Good night."

*****

Carlos is waiting for Cecil outside and kisses him hello. "So, uh, I was listening to the broadcast in the car, and I was wondering, that bit about life bursting forth...that's not how the baby's going to come out, is it? Like, bursting out of your stomach?" 

"I don't know," Cecil says with a shrug. "Let's go to Arby's."

Over two large orders of cheese sticks, Carlos finds out that not only it is possible for the baby to have a gender that is neither boy nor girl, it is possible for it to have none at all, in which case it will automatically be given a lifetime subscription to the Aluminum Foil of the Month Club. He also learns that if the baby is born at night, they will be paid a visit by a Hooded Figure (although it will be relatively benign and may even fetch clean towels if necessary) and that there is good chance that the baby will have a tail.

Carlos frowns. "A tail?" When Cecil gives him a sharp look over the top of his glasses, he adds hastily, "I just mean, it seems like it would be really hard to diaper a baby with a tail."

Cecil shrugs and takes a sip of his salmonberry-pecan Coke. "We'll get the diapers with the tail openings. They're not that much more expensive."

"The diapers with the tail openings. Of course." Cecil begins idly crafting an origami Eldritch Abomination from the paper tray liner, and Carlos takes one look at him and falls in love all over again. "We should get married," he blurts.

Cecil looks startled for a moment, then beams. "All right. Can we keep my bed? I've just gotten it used to me and I don't want to have to start training a new one."

"Yes," Carlos says, laughing a little. "Your bed will be just fine."

*****

This particular week, the post of ordained minister is being filled by John Peters (you know, the farmer.) He's quite busy with the imaginary corn harvest, but he takes a few minutes to say the proper wedding chant and lead them through the traditional ritualistic contortions, dropping the most difficult ones when they explain Cecil's delicate condition. He sends them off with good wishes, a suggestion of "Kadath" for the baby's name, and a small basket of imaginary corn that Cecil claims for himself on the grounds that he's eating for two.

Old Woman Josie stops by the station one day with a baby blanket, which Cecil spreads out to show Carlos that night. "She knitted it herself," Cecil says. "If you look at it from the front it just looks like a plain blanket, but from an angle, it says 'This baby not for eating.'" He lifts it up to demonstrate. "It's an old pattern handed down in her family."

Carlos cocks his head. "Cecil, my love, light of my heart, is it glowing?"

Cecil takes a closer look. "Hmm." He turns off the light and yes, the blanket is giving off a soft, silvery glow. "Well, she did say the angels gave her the yarn." 

Carlos insists on running the Geiger counter over it, just to be safe, while Cecil rolls his eyes.

*****

Cecil's belly expands at a rapid pace, even when allowances are made for the fact that he's quite narrow-hipped. He's hungry all the time, which is only to be expected, and seems perfectly healthy despite Carlos's worries, but there's no denying that the baby is growing more quickly than Carlos has otherwise known babies to do.

His stretchmarks form startlingly accurate maps of several major world rivers and their tributaries, and Carlos enjoys tracing them with his fingertip as they lie in bed at night, telling Cecil stories of his adventures on those rivers. Some are true, some are pure fiction, but they make Cecil smile and that's all that matters.

"Seriously, though," Carlos says one night, his hand on Cecil's belly to feel the baby kick (at the moment it's favoring a waltz rhythm, although yesterday it was kicking in march time). "How is it going to come out? Not the same way it went in, I hope."

Cecil spoons up the last of his banana pudding and sets the empty dish on the nightstand. "You worry too much," he says fondly. "Come here and kiss me, and let's do lots of naughty things while we still have the house to ourselves."

Well, Carlos can't argue with that kind of logic, not when Cecil's warm and affectionate in front of him, pajama top open and mouth tasting sweetly of artificial banana flavoring and non-dairy whipped topping. He goes there, and kisses Cecil, and lots of naughty things are done.

*****

Cecil has been tired all day, and Carlos has stayed home even though Cecil's told him that he's "fine, really, darling, go do science." They're stretched out in bed, Cecil's head in Carlos's lap, and Carlos is playing with Cecil's hair (he happens to think that Cecil's hair is beautiful as well) while reading aloud from the phone book. It's a small book, and he's on his third time through when Cecil gasps and grabs his stomach. 

The actual birth is, after Carlos's weeks of worry, somewhat anticlimactic. Cecil's stomach starts to hum, then glow, and the glow gets so big and bright that they have to close their eyes. The air leaves the room in a whoosh, the glow fades, and Cecil's left holding a big-eyed, dark-haired baby girl with pale mauve skin and two front teeth already grown in. 

After a moment of panicked inaction and maybe just a bit of stammering, Carlos wraps the baby in the blanket Old Woman Josie made and settles in next to Cecil to gaze at their daughter in sheer awestruck wonder. 

"No tail," Cecil comments, tracing his fingertip around the edge of an ear that may possibly be ever-so-slightly pointed. 

"No," Carlos agrees with a laugh, "but it would be okay if there were one. She has your eyes," he adds.

"And your beautiful, perfect hair." Cecil glances at the window, where the sun is only now beginning to set. "No visit from a Hooded Figure for us."

"Just as well," Carlos murmurs, kissing his temple. "I want you two all to myself."

*****

(They name her Alstroemeria. Neither of them is really sure why they choose this name, and in fact, they quickly begin to suspect that Allie named herself, via a telepathic suggestion of a remarkable subtlety given her age. It's a suspicion that gains more weight when they realize that they always seem to know when she needs to be changed or fed without her making a sound. Cecil thinks she'll go on to do great things in Night Vale. 

Carlos just worries that she'll never feel the need to learn to talk.)

**Author's Note:**

> The blanket Old Woman Josie knits is totally possible, though I only crochet and thus have never done it. It's called "illusion knitting" and you can see some great examples here: http://www.illusionknitting.woollythoughts.com/


End file.
